Unworthy
by NaniWise
Summary: IW spoilers. That night, Tony Stark dreamt of a child.


(I own nothing and I hope you enjoy. Good day and God bless.)

Tony Stark dreamt that night.

That night the billionaire dreamt of a child.

A child. A boy.

That night he saw a young boy in his dreams.

It was odd. This had been happening a lot lately.

That night, the man dreamt of a boy that never was.

It was a dream. That is to be expected.

He was small. His body had weak bones and soft skin. The boy was young.

How young? It was hard to tell. Perhaps he was twelve or nine. Somewhere in between those ages.

Was it Tony's? Even harder to tell. He didn't know if the boy was his own flesh and blood. Somehow it didn't matter. He felt it.

He felt the flowers of love inside him, behind his armour, behind his skin, behind his muscles and bones, the roots entangling his feeble and defenseless heart, the stem in his chest, the flowers in full bloom clogging his throat, choking him, speaking for him.

It was a beautiful feeling. It was so beautiful, it hurt.

It was similar to the feeling he felt when Pepper's beautiful eyes met his.

Perhaps he was his child.

Perhaps he wasn't.

Perhaps he just wanted the child to be his.

Perhaps he just wanted those eyes that thought the world of him to keep looking his way for a little while longer.

Perhaps he just wanted to have done something right for once in His pathetic life.

Those eyes. He had a clear vision of the child's eyes but never the child's face.

Her never saw the child's face.

He felt the boy's hand in his. It was a familiar sensation. It felt exactly how he thought it might. Small. Weak. This was the hand of a child, someone who had never defeated a villain, someone who should never be in battle, someone who should be protected.

Tony held a clear almost all too real image of the child when he was significantly younger, when he was just an infant.

It was so recent, and yet so long ago.

It was strange treasuring every day, every second, every moment.

That night the cold hearted Tony Stark dreamt of a boy whose very existence had consumed him, who gave him meaning, who gave it purpose.

He remembered taking him to parks, pushing him on swings, taking him to movies, celebrating birthdays time and time again. He recalled so vividly repetitive activities that never seemed to get old year after year.

Sometimes there would be hard times and yet those flowers in his throat making it so hard for him to breath never once wilted, but rather grew stronger.

But the child grew older, stronger, wiser. He was a teenager now. He was growing up. It was natural but Stark found himself flooded with desperation. He wanted to hold on. He wanted to hold on to these few moments in time.

In the middle of a crowded park, Tony felt the dream slip through his fingers and he panicked.

So, without a second thought that his actions might end such a dream of a boy that never was, without so much as an inkling of doubt, he called the boy's name.

A soundless name. He did not know the name of a child that never existed and yet when the boy looked up to meet his eyes, to respond to his name, to answer the call, Tony found an entirely new feeling overtaking him.

Peter.

The dream was beginning to fray.

Peter Parker.

This was no unknown child.

Tony remembered trying to step back but not going anywhere.

He knew that face.

He remembered reaching for him but not taking hold of anything.

He could never forget that face.

So innocent. So full of life. So full of love.

Not the spider man. Not some worker he hired. This was a child he loved.

This was a child he as good as killed.

"I don't feel so good, Mr. Stark….."

His hands flew up to close his ears but he couldn't block out the voice as fresh on his mind as every breath he took.

"I…. I don't want to go…..!"

The voice was frantic, barely audible. Peter was so scared, too scared. Tony would have, could have, should have protected him from that fear.

"I don't want to go….!"

He wanted to close his eyes to block out the vision but even if his eyes were sealed shut, the face of that boy in his final moments pleading for his life would still haunt him till his final moments.

"I…. I don't….."

The boy falls into his arms and Tony embraces him as tight as he can like he'll never let go.

It's then that he realized that even after growing up, he's still so small. He's still that nine year old boy holding his hand in the park. He still needs Tony more than anything.

And yet he failed.

And yet Tony let him die.

"I…. I'm sorry….."

Tony wondered just how it could be so easy to take someone so good hearted away.

And just like that, the boy disappears as ashes in the wind.

He is gone almost as though he never was.

Tony cries.

The dream is over now and Tony wakes up covered in sweat.

He is still crying.

It was just a dream and yet he still feels the flowers. He doesn't know why.

The flowers turn his sobbing into choking.

He chokes but all that comes up on his tongue is the bitter taste of how insignificant, how pathetic, how weak, and how unworthy Tony really is.

He clean dream of that boy anymore after that night.


End file.
